


Three

by FactoryKat



Series: The Mages' Champion and the Healer's Hope - The Wyatt Hawke Collection [3]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Anders (Dragon Age) Positive, Anders Being Anders, Custom Male Hawke (Dragon Age), Developing Relationship, Dragon Age II Spoilers, Happy Anders (Dragon Age), Inner Dialogue, Justice Positive, M/M, Mage Hawke (Dragon Age), Male-Female Friendship, Purple Hawke, Self-Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2020-01-11 18:50:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18429998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FactoryKat/pseuds/FactoryKat
Summary: Three years - that’s how long these two idiots were pining for one another. Three words - are what they say when they both decide to stop fighting the inevitable and give in.





	1. The struggle

**Author's Note:**

> So this was originally meant to be a simple, super short drabble based on a prompt, but I got carried away. I sprinkled in some in-game dialogue, but I took some liberties with wording and timing to make more sense and better fit my Hawke and his relationship with Anders. There are two parts where the POV changes to Hawke but otherwise it’s all from Anders’ perspective.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders has a problem. That problem is Hawke. Even just a casual evening at the Hanged Man for drinks and cards is difficult to get through.

In the last three years what began as a minor thing - surface level infatuation or an itch needing to be scratched at best - had twisted itself around his heart and into a dull but persistent ache in his gut. For a time, Anders didn’t know what to make of the feeling or what to credit it to. However, every job Hawke asked him along on left him reeling. Watching him tear through his adversaries with a carefully managed ferocity one minute, to then turn and smile warmly the next set his pulse racing and tripped a near-irrational anxiety surrounding the idea of anything ever happening to Hawke. There were times when he profusely declined invitations to Wicked Grace to focus on his patients, spending long nights in Darktown only for Hawke to drop by with a hot meal and extra supplies for the clinic.

When it finally dawned on him  _ why _ he felt this way, every outing, every game, every  _ perfectly cordial visit _ from Hawke was a practice in agonizing self-control. 

Tonight was no exception.

The Hanged Man was lively that evening and the sounds of rowdy patrons filtered into Varric’s suite from the crowded lower floor. A cold snap passing through Kirkwall had driven many to the warmth of the tavern where they filled themselves on ale until they couldn’t feel the wind through their leathers. Most of them stayed until Edwina or Norah finally kicked them out.

“Rivaini, I’m warning you. Keep your eyes on your own cards or I’m gonna have to switch places with Broody over there.”    
  
Despite the warning, the dwarf’s voice was still cordial, cut with a husky laugh. A bassy, rumbling chuckle drifted over from Fenris in response. The elf sat quietly across from Isabela, deeply engrossed in the cards he clutched closely. Isabela was neither offended nor repulsed to the idea if one were to guess by the gleam in her eyes. “Oh Varric, you know this game wouldn’t be half as fun if I wasn’t cheating.”

A sound of disgust escaped his throat as Anders tossed his cards onto the table in defeat. “Fun for you maybe. I don’t know why I even play.” 

Isabela’s laughter did nothing for the guilt coiling into tight knots within his chest. He should be with his patients; working, healing their ailments, treating their wounds but instead he’s sat on a rickety bench amongst people who only tolerated him at the behest of Hawke. While the stench of sour ale and the odorous parfum of drunkards and miners wafting up from below was marginally better than the lingering smell of waste that marked the undercity where he both lived and worked, at least he felt productive there. There was also the mage underground, a crucial project that needed his attention more than some silly game. Pictures of parchment and ink scattered across a busy desk drifted through his thoughts and inwardly he sighed.   
  
_ Yes, Justice. And the manifesto. I haven’t forgotten. _

“Oh I don’t know Blondie, maybe because Hawke likes you?”

Anders returned to the present, caught off guard. He had been nursing a dubious looking mug of water and suddenly swallowed, hard, to avoid choking. The collar of his coat suddenly felt too tight, the heavy leathers too warm and his throat raw. “What?” He asked, nearly sputtering, uncertain if he truly heard that or if it were a simple case of his overworked mind filling in the blanks.

If Varric noticed his growing discomfort, he didn’t draw attention to it. “I said it’s because Hawke invites you. That’s what friends do Blondie. You can stand to take a night off once in a while and play cards with us. Just be glad everyone still has pants on.”

“Speak for yourself,” crooned Isabela. Admittedly, he was grateful for that much. The last time they played nearly ended with Hawke traipsing home sans trousers. Anders had struggled to maintain his composure that evening. How could he forget?

“Right. Friends.” His muttering went either unheard over the noise from within the tavern, or ignored. Either was fine, he wasn’t really seeking a response.

Hawke’s very real presence beside him only further complicated matters in his mind, making it increasingly difficult for him to focus on enjoying himself. If that’s what this could even be called. Subjecting himself to Isabela’s flagrant cheating was hardly  _ fun _ . Conversation carried on amongst the four of them while Anders remained silent, offering no contribution to either the discussion or the game. How could he? All his mind could conjure up was depictions of him unraveling Wyatt’s bun and tangling his fingers in all of that swarthy red hair as it hung loose around his tanned face, or getting lost in his kind, blue eyes.

Justice was silent on the matter, likely weighing his judgement. Anders knew the spirit had already expressed concern over this fixation, fearing it a distraction from more important matters. That was the least of his own concerns. Hawke was a good man with a gentle heart, one that had already seen enough bad luck and misfortune. Anders didn’t need to add all of his own problems onto that pile. It wouldn’t be fair to either of them. Nor did he think for a moment it would ever be possible. For him to pursue someone who now had wealth and status, even the most marginal power within this oppressive city was a flight of fancy. Hawke was only being kind by asking him to join these games. It was his nature, that much Anders could see and never expected that his frequent presence in the field was a result of anything more than a friendship of convenience. He was the healer, a combat medic. What other purpose could he serve?

He rubbed the bridge of his nose absentmindedly, squinting his eyes closed as if it would somehow relieve the throbbing in his head that had only just manifested. Justice’s well meaning prodding at his consciousness was only an additional annoyance. 

“Anders? You okay?” Hawke asked quietly with a nudge from his elbow. Inquisitive eyes met his, looking for a way to solve his troubles surely. Wyatt Hawke. Always trying to help everyone, sometimes even at his own expense. He didn’t want that. Nor did he feel deserving of it. Anders sighed apologetically and stood up. “Sorry. I really should get going.” 

Panic flashed across the other mage’s face. Or was it shock? Hawke got up abruptly in an awkwardly uncoordinated fashion, letting on just how inebriated he was. “Wait, let me walk you back!” 

Anders shook his head, declining the offer. While endearing as it was, the last thing he wanted to do was pull Hawke away from his friends and earn their resentment. “No, you should stay, you’re having fun.” 

“It’s really no trouble, and I was destined to lose anyway. You heard Isabela, the game was rigged from the start.” Hawke’s mask of concern softened into a charming smile. That alone almost made him accept on principle. How long would it be before someone took advantage of that kindness? Someone could exploit it like it were weakness, like all the mages who were ever exploited by their templar jailors. Anger simmered within him briefly, a surge of emotion over the injustices of-

Exasperated, Anders forced it down, pushing the spirit back further.  _ Could we please just get through one night without this? _

“Let the man walk you home, Blondie. You know how the streets are at night.”    


“Yes because getting hit by a stray fireball is guaranteed to be better than getting stabbed. I think I’ll take my chances with the gangs.” 

Fenris scoffed, “For once, I find myself agreeing with you. Hawke is in no state to play bodyguard.”

“Are you kidding?” Varric protested, rising to his friend’s defense. It helped that he seemed sincere in his conviction, wanting  _ all _ of his friends to be safe. Guilt niggled at Anders for his earlier thoughts. The ugly voice of self-doubt was often so loud and aggressive that it overcame reason. “Besides,” the dwarf continued, “Hawke’s aim only gets better when he’s had a few. Trust me.”

There was a dirty joke somewhere in that statement Isabela was sure to capitalize on, but Anders wasn’t paying her any mind enough to listen for it.  _ Andraste’s knickers, this is going to be a spectacular disaster, isn’t it _ ?  

“Thank you, Varric. You always have my back!” Hawke stood up with an enthusiasm that did little to ease Anders’ worries, but arguing with them now was a fruitless endeavor. It was better to gracefully accept and say nothing but thanks. “Alright. I appreciate it.”

“Varric,” Isabela piped up as the two men descended into the lower level of the bar. “I’ll bet you five sovereigns they end up in bed together.” 

“Uh-uh. I know a losing bet when I see one.” 

“What? Why not?”

They were too far away now to hear Fenris’s response to the betting. The tail end of the conversation was swallowed by the rush of air sweeping through the tavern as the door sealed behind them in their departure. Whatever the elf said had resulted in a chorus of voices erupting in excitement through the upstairs suite. Turning back to set the record straight would have only made things awkward, so Anders committed himself to walking - with Hawke to his left, humming quietly. 

Admittedly, it could have been worse.


	2. Hawke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke is far too drunk to be much help walking Anders back to Darktown and ends up being the one escorted home and his continued attempts to woo the healer are still unsuccessful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hawke's POV

Silence marked the majority of their journey through Lowtown, but it was a natural silence, a hush that simply felt appropriate as the city around them crept into their beds. Moments came and went where Hawke thought to fill the air with idle chatter but he knew it would be disingenuous and awkward. His cheeks and chest were warm from intoxication and briefly he had to wonder whether he looked the part and if his face was as flushed as it felt. Hawke’s steps were slow and careful so to avoid any serious injury. There was still a slight wobble to his gait even so.

His breath hitched in his throat when Anders’ hand found purchase on his shoulder to help steady him, after a near-collision with one of the many refugees huddled up under a moth-eaten cloak on the market steps.

“Maybe I should be the one walking _you_ home.” His voice was rife with genuine concern, but gentle and nary but a whisper. Soothing, Hawke thought. It was soothing, and kind. Whether it was the healer talking, or the friend, he didn’t care as long as it didn’t stop.

Sheepishly, he nodded. “Probably yeah. Sorry about that!”

Anders chuckled, smiling in his usual way, the kind that squeezed his heart. _Maker_ , did he have a beautiful smile. In fact, the more he thought on it, the harder it became for him to ignore everything Hawke adored about him. On a purely physical level, the mage was attractive. How could he not be? He was tall and a little lanky, but a closer look would uncover the presence of lean muscle underneath his fair skin. Anders had very defined features that made him stand out and it was a test of will not to picture the man’s sunny blonde hair worn down, framing that angular face shadowed with near perpetual stubble-

“Hawke?”  
  
Ah, he had been staring a little too long. Or so Wyatt presumed by the confusion in the mage’s eyes.   
  
Physical attributes aside, Hawke found himself admiring Anders a great deal. He saw the other mage as passionate. Intense. Steadfastly dedicated to his cause and his craft. From his trade as a healer, giving aid to the poorest of Kirkwall freely, to his personal fight for the mages (and not just those within the city). It worried Hawke sometimes, the way Anders worked himself to the point of exhaustion. He was good and genuine, frenzied, _troubled_ even. Wyatt judged by the subtle shake to his hands or the tense hunch to his shoulders that he carried the weight of the world on them and if there was any way for him to ease that burden he would surely take up the cause.

“Are you feeling alright?

He cleared his throat and looked away as the heat in his face only intensified. “Oh, yeah. Fine. I’ll be fine.”

“That doesn’t sound very convincing you know.” Anders stated plainly.

Hawke silently groaned. Why was this so hard? They had flirted before. A little, but that had been before the Qunari, before Ser Alrik, before everything had become _so real_. Their shared quips never felt significant enough to change the dynamics of their relationship which was both fortunate and frustrating. Hawke maintained a comfortably close friendship with Anders but in the three years or so since they’d met, that was all it ever amounted to. Still, a part of him wondered if it might ever progress beyond that. Hoped it would, even.

“This is your stop, it seems. I should get going, but thanks for the walk.”

In between his daze and their lack of much conversation, Hawke realized the two of them had made it to Hightown and now stood at his front door. Well, it was now or never, right? “Anders? Would you,” he called out to him with some reluctance.

  
“Hm?” Anders turned back around but where Hawke expected to see a hopeful expression on the man’s face, he found only neutrality, perhaps even just mild curiosity.   
  
He felt his heart sink, but refrained from broadcasting his feelings visibly. _Would you like to come in?_ That is what he wanted to say, should have said, but didn’t. “Would you like some help, at the clinic tomorrow? I’m no healer, but I like to think I’m pretty useful in other ways?” Hawke masked his disappointment with humor and a disarming grin.

It succeeded at least in getting Anders to chuckle. “Alright. I suppose I could put you to work. Good night Hawke.”

“Night!” he quipped back, cheerfully, with a wave of his hand. He slipped inside the estate after watching Anders turn and leave.

“ _Maker’s ass_! Get it together Wyatt.” His sigh was heavy and derisive.

Carver would have chastised him for mucking it up so brilliantly. They would have been bold words coming from a boy who couldn’t talk to girls for years without running away. Bethany would have found the whole thing humorous and particularly sweet. She had always encouraged his romantic side, refusing to rat him out when he would rather spend time with the cute farm hand a village over rather than suffer their father’s thousandth lesson on mana or control. Just as he never judged her for the times she slipped away to the local Chantry, just to listen to the songs.

The thought of his sister was still a sharp sword lodged in his heart. Even now, so long after the event, Hawke still tore himself to pieces in guilt over letting her run after that ogre in her moment of bravery. For all of the confidence he wore on the outside, more to discourage others from worrying over him, he still carried the memories of his perceived failures. Each loss had been a heavy blow and carved out a little piece of his heart. Father was first, then Bethany not just years later. While Carver was alive, he was now out of reach. That their last real conversation had been so strained weighed heavily on his conscience. At least his little brother was safe with the Wardens. Safe enough anyhow.

He didn’t wallow for long though, and crossed through the foyer into the den. Bodahn greeted him jovially and Sandal was sat by the fire with Finn, who snorted in sleepy acknowledgment.

Wyatt had stowed his staff and boots and shrugged on his house coat when his mother strolled out of the kitchen carrying a tea tray. The kettle sat in between a pair of mugs with steam rolling out of the spout. “Welcome home dear. I just helped Orana prepare some tea.” Leandra rested the tray on a table beside the fireplace and poured out a drink for the both of them. “Come sit and talk with your mother for a while.” She patted an open armchair next to her own. “The de Launcet’s are having a party tomorrow, you should join me. It would do wonders for your reputation, and you may even meet someone.”

His head was still heavy and hot, signs that his three too many rounds of ale were not quite done with him. The last thing Hawke wanted to do was have a heart to heart with his mother about his romantic endeavors. It was an awkward subject to broach with her while sober, but being drunk certainly wouldn’t make it any less so. Wyatt smiled with a helping of his usual wit and charm. “Sorry mother, I’d love to stay and chat but I’ve got a very important date with my bed, you see. Can’t reschedule. I’m sure you understand.”

She pushed a mug into his hands before he could slink away and smoothed out the wrinkles in his robe idly, as any doting parent might. “Alright. But I don’t know how you’re ever going to find a proper wife if you’re always out there running around trying to fix everyone’s problems in this city. Unless you already have someone you’re keeping from me. Don’t want to subject them to your poor old mother?”   
  
He winced, heat crawling along his neck. What would she think if she knew what he’d been wrestling with? Wyatt knew his parents didn’t have any regrets about what they’d done, but always hoped and prayed to the Maker that things turned out differently for his siblings and himself. To come out and explain he was harboring strong feelings for another mage, another _apostate_ , felt like he would be stomping all over those hopes. “I’m - not sure. It’s complicated.”

Leandra continued to pick at her son’s appearance, as if he were still just a whimsical child who had returned from playing outside in the mud. “I see. What’s her name? What about her family? If you’d like, I could arrange a-”   
  
That was his cue to leave. He wrestled free from her and made an escape for the stairs. “ _Goodnight_ Mother!”  Leandra huffed as her son fled, settling comfortably in her chair by the fire.


	3. An Afternoon Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As promised, Hawke stops by the clinic to lend a hand. Anders is trying very hard to put the man from his mind and just focus on other things until their conversational takes an unexpected turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the actual scene in-game where Hawke initiates the romance and we get the first kiss

The clinic had seen a steady flow of patients for the past several hours, and as promised, Hawke had shown up bright and early to see if Anders wanted any help. Again he had prefaced his assistance with the same disclaimer: he was no healer and that it wasn’t a talent he had ever picked up - not by his father’s teachings nor at any time during his independent studies. Anders had assured him that it was more than fine. Hawke had steady hands, a solid work ethic and the gift of gab, all admirable traits and certainly just as useful as healing magic.

Surrounded by patients, immersed in his element and his work soothes the persistent disquiet in his mind. At least  while the bodies still shuffled into the clinic in need of his aid. As long as there was always something to be done. 

That was his mantra. 

His eyes fell on Hawke in the sudden pause that had befallen the clinic. Anders watched as he carefully escorted the last patients out the door, bobbing his head in rapid succession while the two refugee children, who couldn’t have been a day older than fourteen, gabbed away about their misadventures on the coast. They had been fishing (or attempting to) from up on a low, rocky cliff when the smaller of the two boys had slipped on a patch of grass, slick from the spray of the ocean, and took a hard spill against the craggy shore. Luckily his injuries had been easily mended but with no family or money to their names they only knew to come here.

Only moments ago, he had been awed as Hawke distracted the children, putting them at ease by engaging them in idle conversation or cracking jokes, all the while he focused on healing what minor wounds they had. It occurred to Anders then, that he might not have made his appreciation obvious enough and made a note to thank Hawke for his help. Having another pair of hands around the clinic was not something he was used to and he was grateful for the change of pace, even if working in such close proximity was mildly frustrating. 

Anders tried to remind himself that it was probably out of pity, or some moral obligation to repay him for the countless times he had healed Hawke and his companions

“Alright, just try to avoid the rocks from now on,” Hawke’s voice pulled him from his own wandering mind again. The boys ran off, disappearing into the heart of Darktown leaving just the two of them. Alone.

Anders felt a familiar prickling along the back of neck as his pulse picked up in rhythm.  _ Andraste’s flaming knickers. _ He screwed his eyes shut and forcefully urged Justice to the recess of his mind. Now was  _ not _ the time. Seeking a distraction, he exhaled through his nose and turned his back to the doors while he fetched a few things from the back room. He returned, with a bowl and pitcher of milk in hand just in time to meet Hawke’s curious gaze. 

“What’s that?” 

“For the strays.” Anders replied, trying to avert his eyes and focus on the task at hand. He filled the wide, shallow bowl to the brim. “There are a few of them that come around once in a while. It’s nice. Having cats around again. Even if they don’t get too close.” It was hard to keep the wistful longing out of his voice, or not to think about his old feline companion. “I haven’t seen them in a few days though. I think the refugees may have scared them all off  _ or _ maybe eaten them.” 

Gingerly, he set the bowl down and away from the cots where patients would lay, giving any hypothetical cats room to enjoy their meal while keeping their distance from strangers.

“Eaten them?” Wyatt asked, skeptically.

Relief welled up in him for the moment as the conversation continued along a fairly casual line. “You would be surprised by the things you see down here. Or maybe not. Who knows. But actually, I've been meaning to thank you.”

”Oh yeah? Guess I can make this a habit-” 

While Hawke strategically positioned himself against the wall, Anders paid him no mind, or so he tried to the best of his ability as he continued his thoughts, deliberately interrupting. “Not just for this, I mean. Having someone like you - making a name for yourself in Kirkwall - it's done a lot for mages. You're the kind of leader we need to tell the world we won't be punished any longer for our Maker-given gifts.” For a moment, the air was all too thin inside the clinic, his supposed ‘sanctum of healing and salvation’ tucked away in the the dark dampness of the sewers. 

“You know, when you get all revolutionary like this, it’d be hard for anyone to turn you down.” Hawke simply smiled, with enough of his usual pride and confidence to drown in.

Uncertainty still hung in the air as Anders expelled a heavy breath weighed down by guilt. “Hawke,” He began, pausing only long enough to decide his next words. “I really don’t think - do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?”

Where Hawke might have thought he seemed puzzled, Anders only saw pity in his steely blue eyes. A frown etched itself onto his face, “You saw what I almost did to that girl. How can you be so lighthearted, knowing what you know? Anyone would be smart enough to stay away if they had seen the same thing.” The thoughts of what happened that day were sobering. A heavy stone in his gut. Anders braced himself, waiting for Justice to come surging forth and remind him of what could have happened,  _ would have _ if Hawke had not been there to stop him.

Instead, a steady stream of apologies fell from the other man’s lips, “Anders, I’m sorry! I didn’t think-” the scrambling continued. “ _ Maker I’m stupid _ . I didn’t mean to push. If you’re not interested, you have every right to tell me to shove off and I will take it with grace. I just don’t want to ruin our friendsh-” 

“Push? Oh-” Anders had to interrupt the ramble when the full force of the realization hit him. Hawke had been all but waving a sign in his face hadn’t he? “ _Oh_ _knickerweasels_. You’re serious.” He launched into self-deprecating laughter that made his voice crack. “All this time I’ve been fighting myself, trying to resist, not wanting to get my hopes up.”

Hawke straightened his posture suddenly and Anders saw an equal amount of surprise on his face. “Resist? But- ho’boy, I guess my flirting needs a lot more work than I thought.” He watched the man’s eyes dart around the clinic, as if checking to make sure they were still alone. When their gaze met again, he was greeted with a sideways smile. “Let’s start over shall we? Anders, I’m interested in you and now that I know I wasn’t crazy to think you were interested too, I won’t take no-”

The words were swallowed by lips pressing together as Anders closed the gap between them in a single short stride.

Hawke’s’ mouth buzzed with the tingle of power, of magic. To taste another mage after so long was almost wholly alien and Anders was experiencing it new for the second time, but it was far from unwelcome. No, it was strange and wonderful at once to feel a surge of arcane force born from their intimacy. It didn’t matter who broke away first, only that Anders was left wanting, to catch his breath and savor the lingering bitter tang of lyrium on his lips. 

“For an answer…” Hawke finished his sentence, breathlessly and visibly awestruck. “Well, I could get used to  _ that. _ ”

“I can't give you a normal life. If you're with me, we'll be hunted, hated, the whole world will be against us.” It wasn’t quite regret that laced his voice, but it was an unfortunate fact. They were both apostates, but while Hawke flew deceptively under the radar - having never been either a warden or part of the circle - he himself was two for two, in addition to being the living host for a fade spirit.

“I’d like to see them try. The templars would be tripping over their own skirts to get to us. I’m impressed they know which end of their swords to hold half the time!” 

Anders could see the moment where Hawke’s mind had tried to process a more tactful response before the words tumbled out of his mouth. He offered a throaty laugh in approval. “Hah. Your confidence is awe inspiring. Really.”

“I certainly try my best!”

A gentle hand came to rest on his cheek and Anders leaned into the touch earnestly. “I thought, with justice, this part of me was over.”   
  
“I’m just glad it’s not.” Hawke rumbled, quietly, as he ducked his head in for another kiss.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke finally succeeded in his attempt to court Anders, but an interruption and urgent matter takes him away from the clinic before the two of them can enjoy some more alone time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hawke's POV again

The best laid plans. Or so went the saying.

Someone cleared their throat and the sound reverberated loudly in the empty clinic deliberately halting the open display. “I’m not interrupting anything I hope.” Aveline Vallen stood tall in the clinic doorway, proudly boasting her guard captain’s regalia. Her presence here in Darktown was far and few between, never finding much time or reason to be in the undercity, at least not personally.

Anders immediately put empty space between the two of them. “Aveline.” He was all too curt in acknowledging the ginger-haired warrior. Hawke guessed that it was a practiced maneuver, one practiced in his years spent in the Circle where he likely had to hide his relationship with Karl. Thinking about it was disheartening, but he wouldn’t begrudge Anders for old habits.

Deflated, Hawke was both disappointed and flustered by his friend’s terrible timing. “We were just- I was helping.”  
  
“Yes. _Helping_. I can certainly see that.”

He was practically transparent, or at least an open book under her sharp green eyes. While there was no shame in what he had been doing, he often regarded Aveline as an older sibling or a parental figure.

“And here I expected a lot more guards the day you came kicking down my door. Shame really.”

“You can relax, Anders. I’m here to borrow Hawke. If you’re finished with him that is.” There was a touch of humor in her voice, and no trace of judgement. Such was a relief.

Hawke felt guilty for snickering. He shouldn’t have found Anders biting snark or their exchange to be amusing but perhaps they would forgive him if they knew just how they sounded. “Sorry. What can I do for you Aveline?”

“I’ve been hearing rumors, Hawke, and not good ones.”

“Rumors? Already? Well, that was fast.” He chuckled low and smug-like. Aveline always took his witty quips graciously, although he often thought about the day she finally tired of his sarcasm and chased him out of her office like a misbehaving child.

“Very funny. I mean I’ve heard talk of raider ambushes out on the Wounded Coast. I sent a patrol up there to scout and they haven’t reported in. I was hoping I could convince you to come with me, see what’s going on.”

All humor was drained from the room with the introduction of more serious discussion, not that he blamed her. “Sure Aveline. I’ll need to stop by my place and gear up. Give me just a minute and we can head out.”

She was a friend, one of the few people in this city he held in close regard and while she didn’t often frequent their outings at the Hanged Man with the rest of the group, Aveline expressed her appreciation for her friendships through her position as guard captain. Whether it was changing the patrols around Fenris’ mansion, or pulling favors whenever Merrill got lost and found herself in questionable places. Everyone had a role to play in their group. Anders worked tirelessly keeping everyone alive through his skills as a healer, his own job was stirring up trouble and solving the city’s many problems and Aveline’s was keeping that trouble off everyone’s doorstep. Even Isabela and Varric were highly valued pieces of the strange puzzle he called a family. A found family, but one nonetheless.

Without thought for Aveline’s reaction, Hawke grabbed the other mage and kissed him hard, finishing what they had been about to do before being interrupted. It was less out of sheer need (that was certainly there) but more to reassure Anders, to cement his decision. He wanted this. _Had_ wanted this and for probably about as long.

“I should go,” he muttered as they separated.

Anders voice was a whispered promise. “If your door is open tonight I will come to you, if not, I'll know you took my warning at last.” Hawke turned to leave as the flutters in his chest returned. He was finding it difficult to formulate a response that was more than a giddy smile.  

Aveline was waiting for him. It was going to be a long hike out to the Wounded Coast and Hawke was willing to bet good coin he was in for an earful from her. “Hawke,” came the slow, tentative call of his name.   
  
_Knew it._ He thought.

Somewhere in between releasing hair from dilapidated bun, leather wrap in between his teeth as they left the clinic behind them, he responded with a “Hrrmh?”

Aveline turned her eyes to him across her shoulder while they walked, head on a swivel at the same time. Ever vigilant. “I know you’re a grown man, but…”

“Buuuut?” He cajoled, with a cursory glance at her as he coiled all of his russet red mane into a marginally neater bun at the back of his head. Hawke was wise enough to know what this conversation was going to be about. Though she hadn’t displayed any outward judgement over his scene with Anders, that didn’t mean she might not harbor some concerns. Rightly so, it probably wasn’t the smartest thing he could do, getting involved with him like this but then he was never truly concerned about what was the _smart_ choice and was more likely to follow his instincts. Or his heart in this case.

He smiled knowingly.   
  
“Are you sure about Anders?” And there it was, the burning question. It was in good faith, of course. The mother hen.   
  
Hawke chuckled as he rolled his shoulders, stretching idly. They rounded the corner and followed the steps up that lead out of Darktown. “I appreciate the concern, Aveline. I do.” His words were sincere, mostly, but the curl of his mouth (the kind that usually implied the presence of sarcasm) said everything he didn't need to.

“Alright, fine. Be like that.” From Carver, a line like that would have been spiteful, but he recognized the friendly ribbing for what it was. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt,” Aveline rounded out the conversation with her final point.  

While Hawke understand her words came from a place of good intent, it didn’t stop the disapproving frown that replaced his earlier jovial expression. “I know, but it’ll be fine..” Cast out into the light of Lowtown, the two of them emerged from the undercity access. “Besides, you’ve got bigger problems to worry about than my love life. Honestly, what would you do without me Aveline?”

“I would probably have to retire. There’d be nothing for me to do without you leaving a mess everywhere you go.”

“You know just how make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I’m happy to help!”

Aveline groaned, halfheartedly but her smile softened over the course of their camaraderie. “Yes Hawke. I’m well aware of how you _help._ Jokes aside, I appreciate you lending me a hand with this.” They continued onward, passing through the market and further towards Hightown.


	5. The First Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders promised Hawke he would come, and he certainly liked to think he was a man of his word. When it mattered, and this - this mattered a lot. Sure, they shared a kiss, but in the quiet privacy of the estate is when the important questions get asked.

There was a great relief to be had after finding Hawke’s door was indeed open and that he was waiting within. Anders found him standing by the fireplace, broad form wreathed in a warm golden halo from the flickering light of flame. 

“Justice does not approve of my obsession with you. He believes you're a distraction.” Anders spoke with a certainty but crossed the room like a man whose mind was set.  

It didn’t matter that they all but declared themselves to each other in the private of the clinic, the voice of insecurity and fear still whispered what-ifs and had planted the seed of doubt in his mind. There was question in Hawke’s blue eyes, and Anders squirmed under the the heavy gaze. Justice pressed on his mind, close, curious but ready to take control of the situation if he felt it was necessary. For the first time in a while, he was grateful for the vigilance. Even so, Anders pushed back cautiously, insisting that there was no immediate threat.

“Does it - concern you? Justice and myself? I should have asked before, I’m sorry-”

“No! I-” Anders watched Hawke wrestle with the words. He was on pins and needles for all of a minute. "I just forgot. I don't want to upset Justice. If that's even possible." The mage looked on at him, cautiously, or rather looked  _ through _ him. To Justice. "Is it - is it weird to ask a fade spirit for permission to court his host?" Nervous laughter rumbled out of his chest and his face showed genuine concern.

Ask  _ permission? _ He wanted Justice’s approval? This was all so new. Uncharted territory.

For a moment, the silence in his own mind was deafening, leaving Anders with only the steady pounding of his heart against his chest and quickening breath. Justice surged again after what felt like an hour lost in deep contemplation, ethereal blue light of fade energy escaped through the subtle cracks and fissures in Anders physical form.

Justice’s voice was little more than a whispered echo in the back of his mind but the words were a jumble, a buzzing drifting through his thoughts that vaguely felt - accepting? Agreeable? The glow receded like the ocean tide and not a moment sooner firm hands cradled his face as lips hungrily pawed at his with a frenzy. With a few rapid blinks in surprise, Anders recovered quickly, shutting his eyes tightly, and gave himself over to passion. He met the frenzy and kissed back with equal urgency, only stopping to take a breath. Hawke's mouth moved to his neck and gently kissed along his throat and underneath his chin. Lips dragged across his jaw and Anders shuddered then recoiled all too suddenly.

"Hawke?"   
  
“Wyatt.” Hawke corrected him, gently

“Right.  _ Wyatt _ ,” Anders confirmed, the name rolling off his tongue with a sense of familiarity. He sighed, forcing back the involuntary panic and doubt with an uneasy smile. It had been some time since he found himself romantically,  _ intimately _ involved with anyone and the rush of emotion was more than overwhelming to say the least. 

Hawke apologized, profusely, guilt plastered on his handsome face. “Sorry, I - shit. I didn’t wait for your answer. You just looked so incredible, all lit up and-” but the nervous rambling was cut short as Anders silenced him with another kiss, unashamedly playing the aggressor this time. He threw caution to the wind finally, giving in to both physical need and the desire to feel loved and wanted again. Nothing was going to take this away from him, at least not tonight. 

Nimble fingers plucked carefully at the knotted sash around Hawke’s waist, all that kept him from the warm, tanned skin beneath the burgundy robe. They twitched at first, hesitating before laying his palms flat against the mage’s bare chest. Hands that had yearned to touch for so long finally found exhilarating satisfaction. For a mage, Hawke’s physical build was surprising and it suddenly became apparent that the man peaked above him, just barely, by a full head. Hawke was solid and real beneath his fingers and Anders exhaled a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

Both of Wyatt’s hands were on either side of his face once more but far gentler as frenzy was replaced for tenderness. He found himself making eye contact briefly before Hawke kissed him yet again, soft and slow. One hand slipped from his face and pulled at the length of cord holding his ponytail. In an instant it came undone and the hand buried itself in his hair while the other attempted to (clumsily) work the buckles on his coat in a fervent need. Eventually frustration gave out and Anders aided Hawke in his quest to reveal the mage beneath the many layers. 

“My thanks,” Wyatt quipped, quietly, and the breathy chuckle that followed tickled against his neck. Anders felt more than saw the sideways smile against his jaw and lips as he shed the heavy coat and feathers, caring little for where they landed. 

Somewhere in the middle, Hawke had slipped out of his robe and slippers. His hands slipped under Anders’ tunic, gracefully stripped him of it and backed him up against the adjacent wall. He wanted to say something in response, anything, but words just didn’t seem necessary at the moment. Not while Hawke seemed perfectly content to lavish him with attention. Anders had no complaints. It had been a long time since he had shared his heart with anyone, let alone just his body, but here was this beautiful man - one who had had spent the better part of three years silently coveting - practically worshipping him. Of all the things that could have happened he’d expected this the least.

 

☼   
  


The next few hours were a hazy blur of euphoria and he could not recall at what point they moved to the bed. Sunlight streamed in through the windows now, casting the room in shades of gold. Waking first, Anders carefully removed himself from the tangle of limbs. Hawke was still fitfully dozing. Much as he would prefer to lay in bed all day, there was work to be done at the clinic. Though a delicate operation, he somehow managed to slip away.

Clothes littered the floor in Hawke’s stately bedroom. Anders almost regretted having to disturb the humorous reminder of what happened that night. 

As if on cue, a murmur floated up from amongst the blankets. “Tha’s a sight I could get used to seeing every morning.” Hawke stirred, rubbing sleep from his eyes while he sat up wearing naught but a dopey smile.

“I’m sure.” Anders cast an unguarded smile back while dressing himself. There was no time for a bath, he surmised, realizing it was much later in the morning than originally perceived. 

Before long, Hawke was up and out of bed and already stepping into a pair of trousers he had discarded at some interval in the night. “Do you have to go already? At least have breakfast before you run off on me.” His blue eyes were hopeful and full of longing. Anders had to fight back the urge to climb back into the overstuffed bed with him and re-enact their recent coupling. “My patients are waiting for me. I really need to get back to the clinic.” 

“ _Anders_ ,” Hawke persisted, crossing the distance from the bed to him in a few long strides. “You need to take better care of yourself. Which means not skipping meals.” Broad, tanned arms closed around his leaner figure from behind, enveloping him protectively. An urging crept along his thoughts, starting off subtle but soon becoming all the more persistent. Something about his _mortal body requiring nourishment_ _to properly function_ sprang to mind. Anders relented. “Alright. It seems between you and Justice I won’t have any choice but to.” He tried not to let his voice be marked by annoyance. Really, he appreciated their concerns but he did not like making his patients wait.

A tawny brow arched curiously as Hawke released him, “Oh? Justice agrees with me? Seems like we’ll get along great then.” He smiled, triumphantly, seeming proud to have won both the short-lived battle and the spirit’s approval after all. “Come on. I’ll see if I can whip up something for us real quick.” 

Anders’ nose crinkled defiantly as Hawke lead him by the hand towards the bedroom door. “No offense, love, but I distinctly remember you telling everyone how Orana chased you out of your own kitchen on more than one occasion.” 

“None taken. And you can’t blame a man for trying!” There was laughter in Wyatt’s voice and on his lips, still beaming wide and brighter than the sun shining in the window.  

Terror ran like ice through his veins the moment Anders realized he didn’t want to lose this, that he might wake up at any moment to find all of this was a fabrication of his desperate mind. Hardly the most welcome thoughts first thing in the morning but fear and insecurity never slept. He forced a smile and followed Hawke out.


	6. All Bets Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Isabela has some rather interesting ideas and the boys are invited to cards once again. Even with their newly minted relationship, Anders is still constantly fretting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The POV is a bit, odd on this one at first. I apologize and bear with me.

A sigh languidly rolled over the table from where Isabela sat, or rather had perched herself, on the corner of Varric’s table. Her long legs were crossed, one over the other, kicking out at the air listlessly. “I’m  _ bored _ , Varric.”

Cards fluttered in the dwarf’s stout hands, slapping together noisily as he expertly shuffled the deck. “We promised to wait for Hawke and Blondie. Are you so eager to swindle us for every last coin we have, Rivaini?” Varric’s signature grin split his round face and he tapped on the deck of cards as he set it down, for emphasis. 

“I’m sure they’re just a bit late. Maybe they stopped in the market. You know Hawke, always finding lovely things for everyone.” Merrill offered, sweetly and with all of her usual optimism. It was true. Hawke had a knack for finding little trinkets in the farthest corners of the city, anything that would brighten even the darkest of days. 

Isabela’s prediction was far less wholesome. “Or they’re too busy pawing at each other.” It was such a nonchalant statement despite the lilt to her voice. She brought a mug to her lips and gulped down a generous swig of ale. “Do you think Justice would get involved? With his  _ spear of righteousness _ ?”

“I don’t  _ want _ think about that. At all.” Norah provided a much needed distraction as she breezed through the suite and delivered a round of mugs, overfilled with ale spilling over as she set them down on the table. Varric flashed her a winning smile and graced her palm with a few sovereigns. Such was enough to break her cool exterior and earn a grateful smirk before she sashayed away, down into the tavern proper.

Merrill weighed in far too late and on the wrong part of the conversation. “But Hawke doesn’t have paws! Nor Anders. At least, I don’t think they do. He can be very catlike sometimes though. Is that what you mean? Actually you probably don’t mean that. Sorry, I’m rambling again.” She all but squeaked and shrank away shyly. 

“No, not quite. Although-” 

Isabela was interrupted before she could pervert the conversation any further. “Alright Rivaini, that’s enough. Don’t corrupt poor Daisy with your wildly exaggerated fantasies.” The dwarf leaned backwards in his oversized chair and kicked his short legs up onto the tabletop, almost mirroring Isabela. “Besides, unlike you, I’m sure the last thing she wants to hear about is her friends’ bedroom  _ escapades _ . If you know what I mean.”

With a gasp, the spritely elf had caught on. “Oh! You mean sex!”  

“Atta girl Kitten,” came the pirate’s enthusiastic praise and Merrill erupted into a fit of giggles.

“Maker’s breath. Do you three have nothing better to talk about?” Exasperation dripped from Hawke’s voice as it drifted into the suite, following his appearance in the doorway. 

Anders remained painfully silent as he approached from behind the taller mage, his face warm with mild embarrassment. Evidently, the trio were already up to date on the news of their developing relations, whether by admission or simple deduction (he suspected this was the case knowing them). Anders had never been one to shy away from engaging in cheeky discussions of a carnal variety. He had been something of a shameless flirt in his heyday but it was perhaps the far more personal, intimate nature of his relationship with Hawke that made their banter feel intrusive. 

Merrill sat up straight with a twinkle in her large green eyes. “Hello Hawke! We were just talking about you and Anders and-” 

He interrupted her, “Hello to you too Merrill and yes, I heard as much.” 

There was nothing Anders could say about Merrill’s admission or any part of the conversation to throw them off the scent that wouldn’t be a poorly constructed lie. He resigned himself to silence instead, at least on that subject matter. Wood scraped against wood as Hawke pulled out a chair, inviting him to sit with a wordless gesture and princely smile. Such a simple, yet romantic gesture performed in the public eye only inflamed his affections for the man. He slid into the chair with the palest of a smirk on his face, “Thank you, Love.”

Isabela nearly had a fit as she swung her legs back down to cross one over the other and leaned over the table. “Andraste’s granny pants! You two are smitten, aren’t you? Well, color me impressed. I expected sex, but that’s just nauseatingly  _ precious _ .” 

Merrill’s hands flew to her mouth as she tried to contain her excited mumbling. “Oh creators. That was so sweet!”

“I’m just surprised you didn’t start a betting pool,” Anders finally addressed the group. He feigned neutrality and crossed his arms over his chest as if to guard the most vulnerable parts of himself from them. Justice lingered close to the surface, sensing his perturbed state. It was an arm snaking around his shoulders and drawing him close that soothed healer and spirit both. Anders settled against Hawke allowing himself to be tempered by it. 

Stubby fingers slid across the sleek card backs with an audible swipe as Varric picked up the deck and counted out a hand for each of them. “Oh trust me, Rivaini here tried. I told her there was no sense in betting on something everyone knew was bound to happen anyway.” His husky chuckle and unmoved facade were almost a relief.

“Were we that obvious?” Hawke inquired. He lead by example, gathering the cards into his free hand. The two lovers exchanged glances, but Anders shrugged his shoulders. It was Varric who replied after drawing from the deck. “Please. Blondie here can’t even keep a straight face while playing cards. Subtle isn’t his style.”

Anders rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to protest but Hawke squeezing him and pressing a kiss to his temple made him bristle for a moment. The words died on his lips. It would take time to undo the years of indoctrination, by the Chantry and the Circle, to remember that he was no longer in the tower and he was free to love and be loved openly without fear of discipline. He glanced to his left at Hawke who seemed none the wiser judging by the easy-come grin on his face.

At least - at least it would be time well spent. He grabbed the hand of cards laid out in front of him and forced his mind to focus on the game and the lively chatter amongst his friends, pushing out thoughts of the circle, of poor Karl, of Meredith and her cronies. 

For now.


	7. Love At Long Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they finally say the words and Anders is taken aback by a surprising invitation. How could he say no?

Surreality was best described as having the disorienting, hallucinatory quality of a dream, of something distinctly unreal and surely fantastic. It was, perhaps, the only thing Anders could think of to explain what it felt like. Anders’ arm was draped over Hawke’s chest and tanned digits traced gentle lines from one freckle to the next. Subtle dimples formed on the soft flesh where the man’s fingers grazed. They lay in silence for a while, listening only to each other’s steady breathing and the crackling fireplace. No one else stirred in the estate, except perhaps Orana who was so quiet, barely occupying any space at all. If she was around it wasn’t immediately obvious. 

“Anders?” Hawke murmured,  

At the quiet call of his name, he shifted body so he could meet Hawke’s eyes, “Yes?”

“I’ll take care of you,” he mumbled, lips searching for his. Anders met him the rest of the way and stole a feather-soft kiss before Hawke started to speak again. “I’ll make sure you have plenty of food, water-”

“I’m not a cat, Wyatt,” he interrupted. The joke did not go unappreciated, however. Hawke’s trait of deflecting with humor, little jokes here and there, was endearing. There was an innocent awkwardness to him, one that he found especially charming, not that he would have been turned off by more forward advances.

“Yes yes, I’m teasing. But I mean it though. If you trust me,  _ both _ of you trust me.” Hawke’s grin was soft, affectionate and perhaps even a little cheeky. 

Anders squinted with a bemused smile as his lover gingerly kissed the corner of his eye. To be held like this again, to be cherished by someone so genuinely, filled him with an overwhelming sense of joy. “I love you. I've been holding back from saying that.” He felt Hawke grip him a little tighter before combing fingers carefully through his hair. “You should have a normal life, not be tied down to a fugitive with no future, but I don't ever want to leave you.”   
  
“Then don’t leave.” Was Wyatt’s sudden rebuttal, causing Anders to unfurl himself from the mage’s arms so they could both sit up. “Stay here with me.”   
  
He stared at Hawke incredulously for a moment. Had that been an invitation? “What? You mean move in, live with you?” To say nothing of the suddenness of it, his mind immediately jumped to conclusions. It was a kind gesture, but one that didn't come without concerns. 

“Only if you want to. I would feel better, knowing you were safe.”

“Are you  _ sure _ that's wise? You would be harboring a known apostate.”  _ And a Warden deserter. _ Not that he truly considered what he had done as anything more than self-preservation, but they didn’t see it that way.

“Did I mention the added bonus?” He asked, brazenly, lips twitching. 

Anders reserved a healthy skepticism. “And what might that be?”

“Being able to have you anytime I like.” With strong hands at his waist again, Anders allowed himself to be rolled back over against the mattress, his leaner body pinned comfortably beneath Hawke’s powerful frame. He relaxed under the reassuring weight.

“Is that so?” Anders question was almost a dare. His partner’s quiet, “Mmhm”, hummed and vibrated against his neck as Hawke’s magic rose to greet his, like old lovers reunited. In a sense they were just that. They had performed this dance several times over the past few weeks in whatever spare time they could spirit away for themselves. Spare time that was found in between moments when Kirkwall didn’t need saving from itself or when Anders’ clinic wasn’t packed to the gills with patients.

“Would you tell the world-” His words came in between quiet gasps as Hawke nipped at and peppered his bare chest with kisses. Kisses that sent little shocks coursing through his body. “Or tell the knight-commander that you love an apostate and you will stand beside him?”

“I would pay minstrels to stand in the gallows and sing songs about us.” Hawke lifted his head to reveal an easy smile, his face appearing almost boyish in that moment. His excited proclamation felt like a memory to Anders, of when he was still an apprentice within the circle, dreaming righteous dreams of love and freedom. The recollection was bittersweet.

“Or I could paint our names on the walls inside her office if I thought I could get away with it. In red. Let her think it’s some blood magic ritual. Could you imagine the horror on her face?” Wyatt’s switch from from exhilaratingly romantic to offbeat humor was seamless and felt natural.

Laughter, heartfelt and sincere rolled out of Anders’ chest as he stared fondly at Hawke, who was now straddling his waist. All the while his hands explored the expanse of the mage’s broad back, seeking to commit every inch of him to tactile memory. “Well, you are nothing if not creative.” 

“It’s a gift,” Hawke quipped, grinning wide in triumph. 

Anders sat up and his arms fell to hang loosely around the man’s waist so he could return the favor of covering his chest with fade-touched kisses that marked Hawke as his and only his. Justice was a contented humming somewhere in the back of his subconscious. The spirit’s presence was graciously reassuring tonight, filling the spaces not already occupied by Hawke and leaving him no room to overthink, at least not right now. “Then it is a gift I shall cherish.” 

Wyatt’s face softened, blue eyes startlingly warm as he pressed a tender kiss to his forehead. “I love you Anders. I will love you for as long as you  _ and _ Justice allow me to.”

He squinted his eyes closed, creases forming at the corners as his lips turned upwards into a satisfied smile. All the while, a gratifying shiver raced down his back and the familiar prickle of magic danced along his spine where Hawke’s fingertips grazed his skin. A snicker filled the air between them, “I’m glad to hear we both have a choice in the matter.” Anders still smiled, if demurely. “I love you too.”


End file.
